


Nothing Could Come Between Us

by Crowgirl



Series: Scars Remind Us [37]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels On Missions, Angst, Eavesdropping Is Never Good, M/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 12:11:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ongoing discussion, and ramifications thereof, between Dean and Castiel about the after-effects of Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Could Come Between Us

XXXVII.

Castiel has always been good at watching. 

Castiel has always been good at keeping his distance.

It has always been easy for him to do both. While he has learned to care very much for the humans under his charge, he knows that bad things will happen to them. 

There may be things he wishes he could change or ameliorate or even divert entirely but softening the blow is not always possible or desirable.

Sometimes the blow needs to fall and leave the bruise.

Watching Dean kiss a man outside a bar-room in a small town near Portland, Oregon, is not easy and Castiel can feel the bruise.

This is the third night that Dean has met this particular young man -- Joel. 

Dean is letting Joel press him against the back of the Impala, his own hands finding a way under the other man’s button-down shirt, sliding over his stomach, his back, his shoulders. 

The first night they met, Joel had tugged Dean into the men’s bathroom to be the recipient of what, to Castiel at least, looked like an extremely hurried and unskilful blowjob. Castiel can think of a least half a dozen things that could have been better -- if not more neatly -- done and, to his mind, Joel is not nearly as appreciative of Dean as he should be.

The second night, Dean had the forethought to stuff some clean rags behind the driver’s seat of the Impala. From Castiel’s point of view, this seemed marginally more comfortable.

Now the third night and Castiel is beginning to weary of looking for the solutions to Anna’s cryptic phrases. 

He is sure Dean and Sam are safe. There is nothing here to harm them. The hunt had turned up nothing more than an lost fey, lonely and afraid near the big city and more than happy to be given directions to the nearest national forest where, she was assured by Sam, she could wander for weeks and before she saw a human. 

Joel lowers his head, nips at the skin of Dean’s neck, and Dean rolls his head back, lets the other man do what he wants, and Castiel can feel his nails, short though they are, digging into his palms. He shifts position slightly where he kneels on the roof of the bar, grateful for the high sign -- **J &R’s Road House** \-- that half-conceals him, and forces his hands open, pressing them palms-down to the rough shingles.

There are tall pine trees crowding around the small building, making the night even darker. The air is cool and scented with pine sap and, if he tilts his head back, he can see a few stars sparking out through the branches above him.

After two nights of close observation, Castiel is forced to admit that Dean likes this young man -- otherwise why keep returning to him?

Dean is happy. 

He _must_ be happy. 

Castiel wishes he felt more pleased. 

He wishes he understood: what has this young man done to be trusted where he has been rejected?

After a moment or two, Joel pulls back and Castiel tilts his head, needing to hear what they are saying.

‘...could meet somewhere else?’

‘Yeah? Like where?’ Dean slides his hand up under Joel’s shirt, and Castiel can tell from the intake of breath where Dean’s fingers have gone.

‘Mmm...like maybe a _nice_ restaurant?’ Joel leans forward and licks Dean’s lower lip and Castiel clenches his hand again, digging his nails into the soft mound of his thumb. ‘You’ve been working hard -- all those sales of the...uh...’ He stops and laughs, running his fingers over Dean’s throat, tracing the line of his collarbone. ‘The whatever the hell it is you sell -- let me give you a treat.’

Dean half-laughs, a low, throaty sound, and Castiel wishes he could see Dean’s face. His voice alone is not enough. ‘They wouldn’t like it very much if we started doing _this_ \--’ Dean’s other hand makes a sudden dive below Joel’s beltline. ‘--in some posh joint in town.’

Joel takes a deep, slow breath, pushing his hips forward against Dean’s and, when he tips his head back, Castiel can see the light from the bar window glinting in his eyes. ‘Mmmmm, maybe not but we could always go back to my place afterwards--’

Dean shrugs. ‘Maybe. But why don’t we worry about tonight first, huh?’ 

‘Yeah, yeah...’ Joel’s hands pluck at Dean’s shirt but whatever Dean is doing is making him a little unco-ordinated. ‘I mean, I...oh, _God_...I...’

‘Yeah?’ That is a tone Castiel recognizes. Self-satisfied, a little smug, but there is something about the angle of Dean’s shoulders, the way he is holding himself away from Joel’s hands, that seems odd. Castiel wonders if it is only his own desire to see Dean withdraw that is leading him to believe that is what he sees.

‘...have...a couple friends...mentioned you...wanted to meet you... _Jesus,_ Dean, do you want me to come right here!’

Dean shrugs, not stopping whatever he is doing. ‘Fine by me.’

Joel grabs at Dean’s wrist, catching him by his leather bracelet and stilling his hand. ‘I kinda wanted to get my hands on you, too, y’know.’ His voice is a little unsteady, but Castiel, knowing how compelling Dean can be with his hands when he wants to, is impressed.

Dean looks at him for a long minute, then steps back from the trunk and gestures towards the front of the car. ‘Can’t take you back to my place, ‘m afraid. Little brother’s infesting it tonight.’

‘What about mine?’ Joel does not move towards the car. Instead, he steps into Dean, pressing one hand against his chest, the other around the back of his neck. He teases at Dean’s mouth with his own, nipping and licking at Dean’s lower lip.

And this time, Castiel can hear the change in Dean’s voice. ‘You live in town, right? Sorry, can’t.’ He is not -- rude, precisely, but he is no longer teasing.

‘Dean -- c’mon, it’s only twenty minutes --’ Joel fumbles at Dean’s belt with one hand and Castiel sees the quick flash of motion as Dean pins the other man’s hand with his own.

For a brief moment, the two freeze, Joel looking up at Dean, his eyebrows drawing together, on the verge of being angry, pulling away, starting a fight that will end this encounter. But before he can say anything, Dean slips his hand back down the front of Joel’s trousers and Castiel does not have to see his face to recognize the smirk in his voice. ‘You sure you could wait that long?’

The rest is stumbling footsteps and the opening of the car door.

Castiel stays where he is, not watching any further. He leans back against the sign and looks up into the sky. The stars are bright out here and he traces out familiar constellations visible between the pine needles, naming them over to himself.

But part of his mind refuses to be distracted and returns again and again to Dean.

If he likes the young man -- Castiel forces himself to call him by name: _Joel_ \-- if he likes _Joel,_ then why refuse to spend more time with him?

Why put him off so bluntly?

Why, in short, distract him with sex, with _touch,_ which Dean had been so clear about not wanting from Castiel?

Castiel can feel a hot clenching in his chest that he recognizes, after a second or two, as anger.

If Dean had not wanted Castiel, then why had he not simply _said_ so? 

If there had been something so wrong about the night before they left Bobby’s, then why not admit it? 

Did Dean really think Castiel’s feelings so fragile or his self-love so great? It was not as though Castiel had presented himself as a great seducer; a Casanova awaiting an opportunity to sweep Dean off his feet. He had believed affection would off-set any lack of physical skill -- but apparently that was wrong. Skill counted far more than he had anticipated; he had to admit that there were tricks this Joel apparently knew that he would not have thought of.

And why treat him with such lack of ceremony and go straight to what Castiel has heard Sam refer to as ‘bar bunnies’?

What did they provide which Castiel could not?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Nothing Could Come Between Us," Theory of a Deadman, _Theory of a Deadman._
> 
> And if you think you caught a _Stargate: Atlantis_ McShep reference in there, you're right.


End file.
